


The Iceman

by Lavender_and_Vanilla



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Established Mycroft Holmes/Greg Lestrade, Established Relationship, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-23
Updated: 2017-04-23
Packaged: 2018-10-22 21:28:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 376
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10705470
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lavender_and_Vanilla/pseuds/Lavender_and_Vanilla
Summary: Mycroft Holmes is The Iceman. Not even Greg Lestrade disputes this.





	The Iceman

           “My…?” Mumbled Greg from the bed in the wee hours of the morning.

 

            Mycroft smiled at his partner’s sleepy inquiry. “Yes dear. Go back to sleep.”

 

            “Kay.” Greg shifted to his side and buried himself under the duvet.

 

            Mycroft got himself ready for bed as silently as possible. He vowed the next teleconference with the Chinese was going to be at a normal hour of BST. Quickly finishing his evening toilet, Mycroft climbed into their bed and under the covers.

 

            The sheets on his side of the bed were cold and, with no true volition of his own, Mycroft gravitated toward his bedmate. Sliding one arm around Greg’s middle he spooned against his lover’s back. The heat coming off his partner’s body was intoxicating. Mycroft buried his face into Greg’s neck, slipped his hand up under Greg’s T-shirt and nudged his feet between Greg’s calves.

 

            “Holy fuck! Jesus Christ on a stick!” Greg practically screamed as his eyes flew open. “Where did you just get back from? Antarctica?” Greg panted. “Bloody hell! Your nose is colder than a witch’s tit.” He clutched Mycroft’s hand tight to his chest as the younger man started to pull away. “No. Don’t move. The frostbite will spread. Just give me a minute.”

 

            “I am sorry,” Mycroft mumbled.

 

            “No, no. It’s okay. I just wasn’t expecting it, is all.” After a few moments, Greg turned over to face his lover. “Where’s the other?” he asked with a sigh. Mycroft shifted and then slid his other hand under Greg’s shirt to rest on the hard warm chest. Greg wrapped his arms around the younger man and pulled him close gasping slightly. “Ohhh, Jesus, Joseph and Mary.” Mycroft’s feet shifted between Greg’s legs. “Ahhh, crap on a cracker.”

 

            “Apologies.” Mycroft nuzzled into the crook of Greg’s neck and shoulder eliciting a moan.

 

            “It’s fine,” Greg huffed. Mycroft turned his hands over, pressing the back of his hands against the warmth of Greg’s skin. The older man hissed. “Are you sure you aren’t anemic or have a thyroid problem?”

 

            Mycroft chuckled. “I get a physical twice yearly. I am perfectly healthy.”

 

            “Then why is every appendage so bloody fucking cold?”

 

            Mycroft lifted his face and kissed his lover sweetly. “Not every appendage, Gregory.”

FIN


End file.
